If We See Tomorrow
by CatoradeandRobbie
Summary: Brittany Pierce is lost. Broken. Cut. She knows that she's not going to make it this way for very much longer. Sam Evans is filthy. Destroyed. Alone. He knows there's no way out. Until the two meet and form an unlikely bond. Sam/Britt friendship, Brittana romance, Rating may change
1. Bumps and Lies

**So here's a new one about everyone's favorite… BRITTANY S. PIERCE. The idea came to me when I was think about my former friend and her… cats… so enjoy and it's kinda dark. Enjoy!**

"Britt Britt? What are those marks on your arms?" Santana asked me. I pulled my sleeves down.

"I took away Lord Tubbington's cigarettes and… he's a very _bad_ kitty." I said, and Santana just shot me one of her questioning looks, and then just blew it off.

I could get away with saying things like that to anyone. Because everyone thought I was stupid or something, but I'm not. I'm not stupid. It's just a façade, a fake front I put on every day of my life to hide the pain.

"Well… alright, but don't be late for Cheerios practice today."

I think I froze. And I think it was visible. "I can't. Doctor's appointment," I lied, hitching my bag higher on my shoulder and turning to leave.

Okay, so I lied. Big deal. If she really knew me, she probably wouldn't love me.

I ran out the doors, though, as fast as I could, my shoes pounding the pavement harder and faster than what should've been possible for a girl like me.

Blindly, I bumped into something—no, a someone—and knocked them over. I stopped, closing my eyes and hoping that they weren't hurt. Or worse. I hoped they weren't angry. "I'm so sorry!" I cried, reaching a hand down to help them up.

"Britt?" The voice asked, and I relaxed. I knew that voice. I knew it.

"Sam? Oh, my God! I'm sorry! Are you alright?"

And that crazy blonde actually smiled. "Yeah, I'm fine." He stood up stiffly, grabbing on to the park bench for support. I stood there, dumbfounded. Completely upset.

"You look terrible! Oh no! I hurt you, didn't I? I was just running so fast, and I didn't see and then there was like a…" He grabbed my hand and stopped it from trembling.

"You didn't hurt me, Britt. I'm fine." He was lying. I knew. I could tell he was lying by the way he didn't look at me, the way he stared at his feet.

"Wait. What are you doing here? It's the middle of the day!" I asked, hands on hips, confused. As far as I knew, I was the only one who did that.

"I could ask you the same thing, you know." Found out. Shoot.

I rolled my eyes and attempted to scoff. "Look, I have a family emergency, alright?"

He nodded, the look on his face telling me he didn't believe at all. "And why were your running? And what are those cuts on your arms?" He pressed, walking closer. I swallowed hard.

"I could ask you about that bruise on your neck, you know, unless it's hickey or something. And you limp pretty bad, too," I snapped back, and I think it caught him off guard. Yeah, for once, stupid Brittany was right. Stupid Brittany said something that made sense.

But then tears swelled up in his eyes and I knew immediately that I shouldn't have said something like that.

"Sam, look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…" I rubbed his back but he winced.

Instantly, I knew what was going on. It had happened to me. It had happened to both of us. Yet he didn't know that.

"Britt, stop!" He yelled, and I nodded lightly, pulling my hand away. I stood up. "No, wait! I didn't mean it like…"

"No," I cut him off, "it's alright. I know." I sighed. "My dad just doesn't like it when I'm late."

And there was a moment of revelation on his face as I turned to go.

Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all. Maybe I'd find something to hold myself up with. Yeah. Maybe I'd be alright.

**There you are! A new chapter will be posted shortly! Please add! And Review! And Favorite! It really makes me want to upload quicker. Oh, and yes, this is a Brittana fic, so Sam and Britt don't get together. I'm also thinking about adding a romantic interest for Sam. Drop me a line and tell me who you'd like to see him with!**


	2. Targets and Innocence

**Here you are, and thanks for reviewing! Enjoy! Oh, this chapter is in Sam's POV, so…**

When she said her father doesn't like it when she's late, I knew. I instantly knew. There was the subtlest hint of tears in her eyes as she started running away.

I kept walking on, shakily at first, but then faster as I remembered. My father doesn't like it when I'm late, either.

I stepped inside the door. The screen snapped shut behind me, the gunshot-like sound startling me. Guns scared me. Knives scared me. Heck, hair dryers and long-sleeve shirts scared me. I convinced myself I was just stupid. Those were stupid things to be scared of.

"Why you gotta be so loud boy?" His voice boomed, the words searing through the air like a razor blade.

"I-I…" I stuttered, stumbling back a bit. "I'm s-sorry…" He backed me up into a wall. My breath hitched. No. not here. Not now.

"Sorry? You _disrupted_ my _nap_!" He screamed, inches from my face. Without even trying, tears slid down my cheeks, the salty drops of fear catching in my mouth.

A smack across my face brought me to anger. I fought the urge to lunge forward and kill him right then and there. But no. I couldn't. He's too strong.

He threw me to the floor, laughing uproariously. I closed my eyes and tried not to think of the humiliation. I just clung desperately to my last shred of dignity, if I had even that. A rather large boot came down on my chest, and I heard a crack.

I pressed my eyelids tighter together, wincing in pain. I didn't scream. I wouldn't scream. I couldn't scream. The night I spent on the porch in mid-February was a sickening reminder of that.

"When did you become such a sissy?" He slurred, the alcohol on his breath clearly recognizable as whiskey.

And I never became a sissy. I became a victim. There's no way to expect someone not to cry when they're getting their ribs smashed in. Crying is just an inevitability.

I loved my father to pieces when he was sober, which was a rare occasion, now. He had all this free time on his hands, and welfare money… it was a disastrous combination that ended with me, there, lying in a pool of my own blood.

It was appalling—revolting, actually—how I memorized the color of it. Red, of course, with hints of russet and orange.

I didn't think I should've had that color memorized. It's vile just to think about.

He pulled my arm roughly, and I heard something pop. I didn't know where it popped, but something in my arm or shoulder was out of place. I cringed, determined to stay silent.

He pushed me toward his room. I bit my lip. "No…" I mumbled, and it wasn't even audible to him.

He tossed me, brutally, into that closet. A tiny closet, might I add. It had a rod for clothes, a few wire hangers, a small patch of carpet, and just about nothing else. And it _stunk_. It was his favorite place to put me—to lock me up in.

I whimpered a bit as he slammed the door behind me. There was a hollow clunk as the key locked my in. More laughing. More malicious laughing.

"Please…" I garbled, shaking my head, and finally letting the tears flow freely.

I assessed the damage then, but I wasn't a medical professional. Maybe my ribs were cracked, and my arm was out of socket, but that's all I could tell. And there was blood—lot's of blood. I swallowed hard and tried not to think of it. No. Too painful to swallow.

My throat was dry. Did I mention the lack of food? No, no I didn't.

These stints in the 'punishment closet' could last as long as five days, or even longer depending on what I did and the time of the week.

I sat in my own filth and blood for four days that time, trying to think of anything but my situation. I think I even passed out a few times, through the pain. The lack of blood. The shortage and unavailability of water or food.

But this was my life, and I had to deal with it.

I just didn't know how much longer I could manage to hold on.

He let me go to school the next Tuesday. I was pleased. Though I hated school because of my dyslexia, I'd rather be there than getting beaten mercilessly.

Brittany met me at my locker after third period. She stared straight at me, and I was actually concerned that there was something wrong with her. Well there was. I knew that.

"I know, Sam. And it's okay," she said, simply, standing there with a blank expression on her face. "I understand what you're going through." She put a hand on my shoulder, but I winced. "Sorry."

"You don't understand, Brittany. You never will!" I shrieked, causing her to back up a bit. Again, I didn't mean it, but all this pent up anger had to come out somewhere, and she was an easy target.

Oh, God. A target. And then the true feeling set in.

She turned to go, nodding slightly and closing her eyes.

I didn't mean to be mean. I really didn't. But I think I broke a certain blonde girl's innocent heart.

And then I started to think her heart wasn't so innocent after all.

**Did you like it? I hope so. Hey, I want a potential love interest for Sam, preferably a character from the show. I don't care if it's slash or what, but I need to know before 8/28/12 in the afternoon when I post my new chapter. And, as always, read, add, favorite, and review! Please, please review! Thanks! It means so much. I really hate it when one of my stories gets like 1000 hits and only like five reviews. It's happened to me before. **


	3. Bruises and Lima Heights

**Here's chapter three, and thanks for reviewing! And also a special thanks to Sammiam for requesting Hevans as the ship for Sam in this story. (I love them) and here you are… Oh, Britt's POV**

He looked terrible. And then he yelled at me. I'm not stupid, and I already told you that. I'm not. I never was. I knew he wasn't really mad at me. I knew he knew that I knew (if that makes any sense…)

I met him again, though. At lunch. Outside the cafeteria. I told Santana I had to take a poop.

"Britt, I'm sorry!" He shouted, pleading with his eyes.

"No, I understand." I moved the top of my uniform to expose my shoulder. A big purple bruise decorated it, looking rather out of place against my pale skin.

He didn't respond, but instead he lifted up the front of his shirt to reveal a bigger bruise. A darker purple one, almost black. It was almost sickening to look at the remnants of blood that smeared across his emaciated figure. I never realized he was so _skinny_.

"If I told you it's not as bad as it looks, would you believe me?" He asked, tucking his shirt back into his jeans.

"No. It's bad, Sam. Both of us got it bad."

He sort of nodded, but then looked at his feet. "I think it's because I'm gay." He said, after a long pause. And it was almost out of the blue, the way he said it, too, and I was almost taken aback. But I understood.

"Same here." I stuffed my hands into the pockets of my jacket. "He has his ways of…" I thought about my words carefully. People like us have triggers. "Trying to get me straight."

Sam nodded, shivering. I don't think he knew I noticed.

"I'm always here if you need it," I patted his hand, because it was the only thing that didn't look hurt.

One side of his mouth sort of turned up into something vaguely recognizable as a smile, but not really. "Thanks, Britt."

We went our separate ways, then, though I lingered behind a second longer to watch him limp off. He had it pretty bad. But at least he didn't get… well I won't go there.

I sat next to Santana. She leaned in closer. "Are you okay? I mean… you were in the bathroom for twenty minutes…" Her brows furrowed.

"Yeah…" I said, slipping back into my act. "I couldn't figure out how to unlock the door."

Again. She believed me. People think I'm obtuse! Dim-witted! Brainless! They don't think I can hear them when they talk about me, but I can.

But somehow, this time, there was something behind her eyes that made me realize that she may think otherwise.

I poked at the salad she'd bought for me, glancing up every few seconds to Sam, who sat with the football/glee guys across the café. Every so often, we'd make eye contact, but then snap back into our normal positions.

And I think Santana noticed. No wait. She _did_ notice.

"Oh. My. God!" She screamed at me, standing up and knocking the chair backwards. "You were making out with Sam!" If you know Tana like I know Tana, you know that this is just her personality. Her Lima Heights personality.

The whole cafeteria turned, focusing their attention to the tall, loud Latina in the center of the room.

"N-no… no…" Tears welled in my eyes. _No, she loved me. No, her voice wasn't my father's, _I repeated in my mind, trying to convince myself. All the things just muddled together in my head at moments like that.

In an instant, Sam was by my side. She sneered at him. "You better have a pretty good explanation, Trouty Mouth!" She spat through her teeth. He stumbled back a few steps, shaken. "Or else I'm gonna go _all_ Lima Heights!"

He stretched a fake laugh, but she bought it, her sneer collapsing. "So Britt was washing her hands in the bathroom, right? And then I walked in and she's all like 'Sam, I didn't know you were a girl!' and then I turned like bright red. And then I ran out, and then she followed me, and then… well…" He blushed.

He was the best liar I've ever met in my whole entire life. That's not a compliment. But he _was_.

"Boy, you really _are_ stupid!" She laughed. "There's a sign with a dress for a reason!" His lip trembled. "Unless, of course, you really are a Samantha!"

"Tana, stop!" I shouted, again, the majority of the people in the lunch room craning to get a look at me.

She looked at me and shook her head as she sat down. Sam mouthed 'thank you' and then walked back to his table. Finn chucked him a football, and it hit him in the stomach. He groaned, and they all just stared at him. He smiled, "Gotcha!" and then he threw the ball back to Puck. Again. Best. Liar. Ever.

"So what's your sudden fascination with Sam?" One of the Cheerios asked, as Santana threw her trash out.

I peeked at the blonde boy one last time. He was cringing while all his friends laughed at something Puck had said.

I sighed, and half-heartedly muttered, "His sister has a cat."

She looked at me and I could tell she was thinking something like, _there goes Britt being dumb again_.

But I assure you. I'm not.

**Okay, so the Hevans comes in next chapter. Even if it's not your thing, keep reading. You may be able to look past it to see a bunch of wonderful Brittana moments I'm planning. (Does anyone else prefer Santittany?) Please review! **


	4. Beatings and Spanish

**I'm really sorry about not updating for a long time. I've just been REALLY busy, but I'm going to update a whole lot in the next few days, 'cause I start school on Thursday, and I want to get as much in as possible. Okay, so the Hevans is coming in this chap! Look forward to it! Sam's POV…**

I'm a good liar, alright? I am. Over the years, I have learned.

"Sam!" It was that light, airy voice I loved. Kurt. My Kurt.

"Hey!" I think I jumped about a foot in the air, but I couldn't tell if I was just making myself think that, of if it was real.

His brows furrowed. I was confused. "Are you okay? You seem a little… jumpy…"

Apparently, yes. I inwardly cursed myself for it, too.

"Well… it's sorta been the backlash from that girls' bathroom thing," I lied again.

There was this thing about Kurt. He was harder to lie to. I don't know if that's because I love him and I hate lying to him, or if it's because he sees right through most of them.

He smiled a little. "Yeah. Girls on the right. Guys on the left."

I laughed, for real. It was so easy with Kurt. Even if he didn't know I was lying before that, he knew I was being genuine right then. "I could say that they were both boys' at my old school, but I've been here for two years so…" I pried a smile onto my face. A smile kind of felt weird, a real smile, that is. It was like trying to open something that's been closed for too long and it's long since rusted shut.

"Well, I'm glad to see you're taking this lightly." He jokingly punched my arm, and it wasn't hard at all. Just barely a touch, and I was nearly on the floor writhing on the pain. But I couldn't. Not in front of my boyfriend.

"Y-yeah…" I managed to say, both the laugh and the smile gone.

The clear, resounding bell cut the moment. I was…Kill me if you want for saying this but… saved by the bell.

"Hey, come over and we'll work on that Spanish homework!" Kurt called, swept up in the crowd that nearly carried him to his next class.

I wouldn't come over that night, and when he offered to come to my house, I'd have to say no again. Maybe I was compromising a world of things that I could've loved, but it was too risky to just go gallivanting across the countryside with my boyfriend while my father was at home waiting for me with another one of his 'toys'.

I shuddered, and walked back into the cafeteria. It was empty. Not even the dishwashers lingered. But there was a terrified blonde girl who sat at the table in the exact middle. And I sat next to her.

She wasn't crying, she was smiling actually, but I think she was close to tears. _So_ close. "We need to tell them, Sammy." She choked. Through this whole thing she'd been stronger than I was, but now I felt like I needed to help her out. She was trembling. Fast. Hard. Whimpering like no tomorrow.

"Britt, calm down. You're okay." I reached to rub her back, but she quickly flinched around and swatted my hand away.

"Don't you see I'm not?!" She yelled, and for some reason I wasn't scared, nor was I offended. "_This_ is happening to me, and on top of that I'm keeping this secret. It's just… debilitating!"

Okay, I never thought Brittany would use a word that I didn't know the meaning to. Wow.

"But we're going through this together, Britt, c'mon. you promised you'd…"

"I know what I promised, but I'm on the edge right now! Sam, I need to tell her." She peeled her teary face from her hands and looked up at me. I reluctantly nodded.

The lying had gotten easier and harder at the same time. It was becoming easier and easier to tell Kurt I had football injuries, but harder to have the weight of it to carry around. So, Brittany Pierce was right—another thing I never thought I would say—and I needed to get this out of my system.

"Trust me, Sam, Kurt'll understand. Trust me. And I know Santana will, too." I was skeptical, and I think she caught that look in my eyes. "She's not from Lima Heights. It's just a joke." Britt smiled a bit and shook her head. "She just took karate or boxing or something, and she keeps razors in her hair for no reason."

I nodded, not really following, but oh well. "Okay. Fine. I'll do it. On one condition."

She groaned and banged her head on the table. "I'm not making out with you Sam."

I looked at her in confusion. "Umm… No, I was just gonna ask if we could do it together, you know, we tell them at the same time." And besides that, I was pretty sure—no absolutely sure—that I was gay.

"Tomorrow's good then?" She asked it nonchalantly, too, as if we were planning to go get falafels or ice cream or hot dogs or something.

I nearly threw up at the thought of what I was about to do. "I won't be here tomorrow. I'm going to Kurt's tonight. And that's…" I trailed off.

"Grounds for punishment?" I was shocked. My father's exact words. I couldn't believe it. "Yeah, my dad says the same thing."

"When I get back," I said finally, after staring at her for at least five minutes straight. I mean, even I didn't know how long I'd be locked in the closet that time. Especially if he knew that I was out with Kurt.

I don't know why I did it, but I _think _I do.

I love Kurt an awful lot. Even more than I hate my father or hate being punished. So, I did that for him. He may never know my sacrifice, but all that's important is that I was there with him, for him, letting him help me. I need to hold up my end of the relationship too.

Spanish words swam in my head the first night in the closet.

_Abusado_-Abused

_Golpear_-Hit

_Cinturòn-_Belt

This is absolute freaking crazy.

And Kurt, my Kurt, he doesn't even know.

**Wow I am going to bed now. I was shopping with my buds all day yesterday, and now I am tired! We stayed up until like 2 am talking (not that I don't normally stay up that that) and I had barely any sleep the night before. So, as I like to say to bffs and fam: **

_**Please do not hold me accountable for anything I do under the influence of sleep deprivation.**_

**Please review, and thanks for reviewing! I try to respond to the people the people that do. If I haven't, I'm sorry… I haven't been on FF.N in like two whole days which is a lot for me 'cause usually I'm on like every two hours.**


	5. My Heart and His

**I'm sorry this is late…so… um… enjoy! Britt's POV**

"Santana?" I asked, poking the shoulder of her red and white jacket. She looked at me with those big, golden eyes. I didn't really want to see that (dare I say it) naiveté break, but mine already had. You wouldn't know it, but it had. "Meet me outside after class."

She nodded, turning back to face the teacher at the front of the class. I really don't remember what class it was, exactly, and all my notes were notes on how to carry this out.

Because Sam and I were going to tell Kurt and Santana, that day. And I was trying to get ready— I was trying to prepare myself for the biggest moment of my life.

_LINE BREAK_

Sam looked at Kurt, and then back to me, and then at Santana, who looked warily in Sam's direction the whole time.

"There's something we kinda… need to tell you…" Sam said, voice cracking as he started wringing his hands in that awkward, 'it's hard to tell you this' sort of way.

"If you've been gettin' up on my girl, I _will_ kill you." She said, arms folding across her chest, and I was starting to think that it wasn't such a great idea. And that suspicion was only amplified even more when Sam started bawling. Santana's harsh face dropped into shock. "You didn't get her pregnant, did you? Because then, I was torture you, and _then_ kill you." And that only made him cry _harder_, if that was at all possible, considering the state he was in.

"Stop it, Santana!" I yelled, cutting off both her rants and his crying. Kurt just stared at me, on neither side, just confused.

I bit back my pride, or my embarrassment, or my doubt, or whatever it was and threw up my sleeves, exposing nasty bruises on my wrists.

"So he likes rough sex then, huh? Never woulda though a pansy like him…"

"Shut up!" I yelled again, walking over to the sobbing boy and tossing the front of his shirt up, too. "He's not doing this to me. I'm not doing this to me. Isn't it obvious?" I screeched, and my eyes were probably a little manic. It's not often when I do go into that explosive stare of mind.

"Britt," she cooed, "I don't know what he's telling you, but if he's forcing you to do this against you will… it's rape." Her face was suddenly somber and sad, like she actually thought Sam had the guts to do something like that. (Believe me, he didn't, doesn't, and will never.)

I growled a bit in the back of my throat at her ignorance. "Not. Sam." I spat through my teeth, literally seething with anger. "My father. And you try telling a two hundred pound, six foot-eight guy to get off you when he's tied your wrists to the bedposts." I screamed, throwing my hands up around my head in rage. "You try it, and I'll tell you what. It's not easy!"

Santana's mouth quivered a bit before she broke into tears, wrapping her arms around my waits and hugging me close. "I'm so sorry, Britt-Britt."

As she tried to sooth me, I saw Kurt setting with Sam on the bench. They were both trembling. "Why do you have… I mean… I'm…" Kurt tried, but then realized he wasn't going to be able to form a coherent series of words without any answers.

"My dad is a…" I saw in his face the frustration as he tried to come up with a word big enough; a word with enough power to sum it all up.

"He's sadistic!" Kurt shouted, standing up. "He's absolutely sick! And masochistic and utterly…" He struggled for words too, but he came up with three that described both my father and Sam's.

Sam stood, grabbing onto Kurt's trembling arms and holding them as he fought back more tears. "But he's my dad." And I know most people didn't think it back then, you know, that I had a full grasp of things, but I did. And Sam was obviously the one who didn't. Because, while he knew what his father was doing to him was _completely _inhumane, he wasn't going to say it out loud.

Because that would be telling. And God knows kids like us aren't supposed to tell. And even if our dads never heard it from anyone else, even if our fathers never could find a way to prove it, they would know that we told.

And while I was probably in for another rape and a simple, yet harsh, spanking, Sam was probably in for the beating of his lifetime. It was all my fault.

I singlehandedly ripped out the trouty-mouthed kid's heart and smashed it to the dirt. I probably took away his last bit of happiness, if he had even a little bit left.

I was torn. Sam was obviously broken. Kurt was in shock. Santana probably wouldn't ever stop bawling. Yeah, I crushed them, too.

And I was a happiness killer, though I'm starting to think that his father did it before I did, in a harsher, 'rip off the bandage in one shot' sort of way.

I didn't know where that road was leading me, but I walked home that night, in the dark. In the cold, the wind beating me like the one I was preparing myself for.

But I never made it home that night.

**Sorry about the cliffy, but I had to do it to you guys! Maybe a chapter up on… tomorrow hopefully, but if not it will probably be Friday, cuz I got stuff on Wednesday and Thursday. It all depends if my English teacher decides to give us another essay or not… I'm hoping not… Review please!**


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